


such selfish prayers (and i can't get enough)

by iskra (kiira)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, carmilla/laura is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/iskra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>carmilla is kneeling by the edge, and you are far, far, far from her (she is holding the sword, it is dangling over the edge). everyone is gone and you carefully walk to carmilla, placing one hand on her trembling shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such selfish prayers (and i can't get enough)

(This isn’t how it was supposed to end).

//

In all the scenarios you imagined for the final battle, you were never too late. You were the knight in shining armor, the savior (you watch as Laura falls into the Light and Carmilla screams and screams and screams)

You are numb and Carmilla is a blur of fury as she slices into her mother with one long swing (and you are numb and Laura is dead.)

Perry leads the girls back and LaFontaine takes charge of the Zetas, herding back the injured (you are left, you are still holding your bow, like it could do anything now).

(She’s dead)

Carmilla is kneeling by the edge, and you are far, far, far from her (she is holding the sword, it is dangling over the edge). Everyone is gone and you carefully walk to Carmilla, placing one hand on her trembling shoulder.

You are numb (you feel Carmilla’s grief like it is an aching thing, she starts at your touch).

“We have to go,” you whisper, “it’s not safe, it’s not safe” and Carmilla lets the blade fall out of her hand.

(You do not hear it hit the bottom, Laura is still falling).

//

You throw yourself into your work, into the Summer Society, into your classes, into your TA work and you pretend you cannot hear Laura’s screams every time you pause for a second.

Every night you lie awake in your bed and (all you can hear is Laura screaming), there is something wrong with how your life has turned out (you haven’t slept in a week).

//

Perry (lovely, kind Perry) finds you sobbing in an empty classroom and she hurries you to her room, fixing you a cup of tea and when you fall asleep, exhausted on her couch, your dreams are confused and empty.

When you wake up, Perry is on the phone, talking in rapid German and you are too tired, too empty to make sense of her smiling words. She hangs up and looks at you (and you want nothing more than her pity, you start to cry again).

“That was Dr. Englander,” she whispers (everything is whispers, the humming of voices too harsh for a world without her), “and she says that you’re not going to be TA-ing her class until… until…” and her voice trails off.

“Thanks,” and you’re so incredibly exhausted but Laura is screaming and you think you will never reach until.

//

Carmilla is drunk when you find her curled up on the Summer Society steps, and she looks like she’s slept as much as you have.

“Danny!” She slurs, and you haven’t seen her since she let the blade fall after Laura (you cannot look at her and see anyone but Laura). “Danny, you’re just the person I was…”

“No,” and you kick her out of the way (some small part of you feels joy at her tremble) “Fuck off, Carmilla.”

She is small, (she is so incredibly small) and she stumbles after you. (She is crying, you cannot look at her pain).

“Her dad... her dad left today,” and you grab her shoulder and steer her into an empty room, shoving her down hard onto a bed.

“You can sleep here,” and you try to keep your voice neutral (try not to see yourself in her trembling, hopelessness).

(You go to see her in the morning; there is nothing left).

//

It takes another week of nonstop work before you go to see Carmilla (Perry took away your TA job; you volunteer as a tutor, you do not get back to your room until 3am) (your Summer sisters express their worry and you laugh it off).

Her room is half-empty and you feel like all the air has been stolen from your lungs (you knew, in some way, that her father had come and left, but you didn’t put together that it meant that everything would be _gone_ ) (it is like Laura Hollis never existed at all).

It is something of holy ground, and Carmilla is sprawled on her bed, some dense philosophy book half open and she is staring at the blank space of Laura.

(You do not cross the threshold until Carmilla turns her glazed stare to you.)

“The fuck do you want, ginger?”

(You don’t grace her with a response, you do not sit on Laura’s bed) (if her room is something of holy ground, her bed is the altar).

“I said, what the fuck do you want?” and her voice breaks slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me Mr. Hollis was here?”

She tightens at his name, her sprawl more deliberate and you want to smack that sneer off her face. (She’s _dead_ you want to scream, she’s dead, she’s dead _, she’s dead_ ).

“He didn’t want—he didn’t want to have to deal with other’s grief, not that it’s any of your business.”

And it’s selfish, but he can be selfish, you can be selfish, fuck, even Carmilla can be selfish. (She’s dead, and grief is private).

“Is it really your business, though?” And you watch her snap, watch her sprawl stiffen and condense, she stalks off the bed (she is so small, but in her anger she is terrifying).

“I love her,” she hisses, and shoulders you into the wardrobe. “I love her.”

And then she’s tugging you down, slamming you against the wardrobe, kissing you like you too might fall into the earth.

(She’s not gentle, her fangs catch on your lips and you’re bleeding) (you don’t _care,_ you’re bleeding, you’re _alive_ ).

“You don’t… you don’t want this Carmilla,” you gasp when her mouth moves to your neck, and it’s hard to get out even that with her lips, her teeth, your blood.

“You don’t know shit, Lawrence,” and she bites down hard on your pulse point, “you don’t know shit.”

Her hands are cold, so cold and they’re under your shirt, scratching into your skin (her mouth is back on yours and you moan).

“Shut up,” there is blood in your mouth, on your hands and you never want it to end. “Shut up.”

You dig your fingers into her hips and shove her backwards, all the way to her bed and finally, finally you’re on top for a wonderful second, until Carmilla _growls_ and you’re on your back (her hands are shaking as she unbuttons your shirt, her mouth hot and wet and lovely as she kisses and bites her way down your stomach.)

Laura’s bed bears witness to Carmilla’s head tipped back, her black black hair against your pale skin, your half-voiced moans, your hands on, in, on Carmilla, your blood beneath Carmilla’s nails, in Carmilla’s mouth.

(Her mouth is lovely, rose and silent; everything echoes against the hollow space of Laura, Laura, Laura.)

//

You wake up with Carmilla’s cool skin against yours (she is still in sleep, her fluttering eyelids the only reminder of life; she cried after last night and you kissed her soft, your blood still staining her lips.)

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end, but somehow (somehow, somehow, somehow) it has.


End file.
